


Breather

by Timeless A-Peel (timelessapeel)



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 07:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12076410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessapeel/pseuds/Timeless%20A-Peel
Summary: Short. Wynonna takes a moment.





	Breather

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "Wynonna Earp", nor any of the associated characters. They're the property of Beau Smith, Wynonna Earp Productions Inc., and IDW Publishing. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Author's Notes: Watching season 2, I was struck by the fact that Wynonna is repeatedly denied the chance to sit and process all the things that happen to her, and thought her having a quiet moment would be an interesting scene to write. This is my crack at writing for this series and these characters, so please be kind. 
> 
> \------

Wynonna Earp settled onto her bed with a grunt, head falling back against the pillows. She was still sore pretty much everywhere, but especially in her nether regions, which probably wasn’t surprising given she’d had a baby twenty-four hours earlier. Waverly had been fussing like crazy all morning, and had reluctantly come to the conclusion that the homestead was dangerously short on supplies. No one was available to come by at short notice, and Wynonna refused to go into town and be gawked at by literally everybody, so she’d convinced her sister that yes, she would be fine, and yes, that if she started bleeding out or something, she would call her or Nicole or Dolls or the army or somebody. She’d more or less pushed Waverly out the door in the end, and locked it behind her, then waited until the sound of her car driving away had faded into the distance before going upstairs. The truth was, Wynonna was relieved to be alone. She hadn’t had a moment to herself to sit and process everything that had happened, and with the way things were currently shaping up with Clootie, she doubted she was going to have many chances to do it again anytime soon. Plus, Wynonna was heartily sick of everyone looking at her with the same sad eyes and sympathetic expression. Yes, everything in her life sucked pretty bad right now. She did not need to see confirmation of it reflected in everyone else’s face.

The only bad thing about being alone was that there was no one to answer her questions about the aftermath of giving birth. It would have helped if Dr. Navalar hadn’t wound up collateral damage. She could’ve asked her some stuff. Like why she still looked pregnant, even though she was really, really sure she’d had the kid, but her abs were nowhere to be seen. And what the deal was with her boobs. They were huge and sensitive as hell, and she kept waiting for them to start leaking. Isn’t that what they did? Leak when they got too full or a baby cried or whatever? What happened if she started crying? She’d done a lot of that already but maybe it took awhile to kick in? How long before it went away because she had no…baby…to feed? The more she thought about it, the less okay she was with pretty much everything about her situation. Fingers crossed her body would take the hint sooner rather than later and shake off this whole post-pregnancy thing so she wasn’t reminded of what she’d lost every ten seconds.

Wynonna reached for the whiskey bottle on the side table that she’d pulled out of the cupboard the second Waverly was out the door, unscrewed the lid, and took a swig without bothering to use the glass she’d brought up with her. As the liquid burned its way down her throat, she felt vaguely guilty in spite of herself. She might have still looked pregnant, but there was no baby inside her, not anymore, and she wasn’t going to be feeding one, either. So there was no reason for her not to drink. She’d had to send her kid away, but hey, at least she could revert back to flirting with borderline alcoholism with abandon, in what was possibly the most screwed up silver lining known to man. Wynonna laughed bitterly to herself and the tears sprang to her eyes unbidden. 

She’d tried looking all this after birth weirdness stuff up on the internet, but their connection on the homestead was always spotty, so she’d thrown her phone across the bed in disgust. It was probably in the books, but Wynonna hadn’t read the books, partly because she was in denial about the whole thing, and partly because she’d been a bit busy and none of them were titled What to Expect When You’re Expecting the Heir to a 150-year-old Curse and the Imminent Revival of the Demon that Cast It. She would have totally read that one. Or at least skimmed it.

Waverly had read the books, of course, but if Wynonna asked her, that’d only mean more sad eyes, and she couldn’t take that, dammit. Doc had read the books, too, something she’d been incredibly touched to discover, but she doubted either of them would particularly enjoy an in-depth conversation about the finer points of her anatomy just now, even if the circumstances had been less heartbreaking. It was a moot point anyway—Doc had disappeared into the wilderness to do whatever he needed to do to process everything that had gone on, including the whole becoming a father and going to hell thing. Wynonna couldn’t blame him. I mean, the fact that he had a kid with his best friend’s grandkid several generations removed was probably enough to mess with his head in and of itself. Wynonna tried not to think about the logistics of that too much, but her mind kept drifting that way of its own accord. Their daughter’s family tree was going to be a bit lopsided given their age gap, for one thing, what with Doc’s side being a bit short on the generations front. And did it count as robbing the cradle if he was 166 and she was 27, but he looked like a really good 36? Wynonna’s eyes widened almost comically—no wonder she hated math. She took a heavy swig of whiskey in hopes of chasing the numbers away. Nothing good was going to come from this train of thought.

It didn’t matter anyway. Doc would reemerge soon enough, and he’d be better. Not fine, but better. Good enough to get back in the fight. Or at least Wynonna hoped so. Because she was going to need all hands on deck to deal with the shitstorm that was coming down the line. Starting with the person she had never thought she’d meet in this particular situation: as a mother without a child. Mama had been a mama, once upon a time. She probably had answers to Wynonna’s questions that weren’t in any book. 

Wynonna just wasn’t sure she could bring herself to ask them.

End


End file.
